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Seeing Colors

Bryce…

Darkness creeps in and out of my mind. It’s always illuminated though, always bright and never encased by the dark held behind my eyelids. I’m on stage, sweating, it’s been a long set, but I still feel like it just started. I have this energy just pulsating and flowing throughout my entire body, kind of an aura. I imagine that it changes colors and morphs with my emotions. My guitar has them too. I see them though. They flow from it when I play. It’s just the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I know it’s all in my head, but it calms me down, relaxes me, but at the same time it makes me focus. Each time I play I try to make it more beautiful; I try to paint an even more beautiful painting in the sky each time I play. I put my soul into this music, I feel it, I don’t hear it; I feel it. I am one with music when I write, when I perform, hell, I’m one with it even when I practice. I remember all this when it first happened, and then I open my eyes again. I see the crowd, the green, blue and purple mist dancing out from my guitar as I play. I glance over to Cliff, I see the red and gold and black mist sprouting from his bass as he winks at me. I smile then turn back to the crowd and hit some harmonics to finish my set. I love harmonics; the colors that emerge are just indescribably beautiful.

A swirl and a flash
Sprinkles of blue and gold and lavender
Vibrating and tingling the air around us
Like bubbles now
Floating into the oblivion
It’s just too beautiful…

Cece…

I stared at my violin, sitting there, in the corner of my room, mocking me. It challenged me and tested me, teased me. It wanted me to pick it up again, to be amazed by the magical colors purging forth. To tell the truth, I was scared. I wanted to know if others could see the brilliance like I could. I wanted to share the beauty, but I couldn’t. If people couldn’t see me they would think I was weird. They would call me a freak and ostracize me from their perfect little communities in their perfect little worlds. I would be a nobody, a ghost, its not like I have many friends anyway, but losing me wouldn’t be much of a loss for him. Bryce, I miss him. It’s only been a few hours, but I miss him anyway. If only he could see me when I play, if only he could see the beauty I create. I walked over to that dark, desolate corner of my room, picked up my violin, and smashed it.

A spark and a crash
It’s all over now
No one can see the colors
I can’t risk him
Not for something as stupid as this
I feel like I love him, I know I do





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This article has 4 comments. Post your own now!

hxcRocker said...
Nov. 25, 2010 at 3:36 am
I thought i already commented on this poem/story/literature. I definitely read it. I have never gotten good enough at any musical instrument to know if i can see colors. I imagine it must be a beautiful, pleasurable experience. Great job putting it into words. Some things are just, indescribable. 
 
amicrazyorisitjusteveryoneelse replied...
Nov. 25, 2010 at 6:47 pm
Yeah, I tried to put it into words... It was hard and got kinda confusing so I had to start over a couple times.
 
Tahial Btrhig:) said...
Nov. 4, 2010 at 1:55 am
It's amazing what people do just to fit in and be like the other people around them.  I see colors too when I play though.  It's really cool to see that i'm like, you know, not alone:)  Not the only one that sees them.
 
amicrazyorisitjusteveryoneelse replied...
Nov. 4, 2010 at 1:58 am

Thanks Thalia:)  lol, didn't know you see colors too, we still need a bassist:)  lol

-Myaerl:)

 
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